


Genetic Disaster

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Honeymoon, NSFW, Nehs wrote prawns, Prompt Fic, Sex Talk, Smut, talk of having children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7945330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From two tumblr prompts: "a souffez (11 and Clara) where they consider having babies right in the middle of sex" and "discussion of kids coming back up after regeneration". Third chapter is a continuation, which is the final one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

From the moment she started dating the Doctor, because that’s all that Wednesdays were, Clara had promised herself that she wouldn’t get in too deep. He didn’t look it all the time, nor did he act it, but he was an ancient space-alien with almost unfathomable power at his disposal—he was dangerous to be around.

‘ _You’re treading a fine line_ ,’ she thought as she held his hand, gazing up into his face only moments before the roar of a Nhennian tiger reminded them they were in the middle of uncharted space-jungle.

‘ _Watch it, Clara Oswald_ ,’ she warned herself as she clung to his waistcoat, his arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively as he used his sonic screwdriver to keep the Kaldorian robots at bay.

‘ _Clara, you’re playing with fire_ ,’ she scolded briefly before sitting down hard on his lap and cuddling close after a whirlwind of a Wednesday.

‘ _Fuck it_ ,’ she decided while grabbing him by the lapels and yanking him down for a kiss against the TARDIS console. She palmed him through his trousers and he did a giggly-sort of squirm in delight, which caused her to wrap her hand around him, triggering a satisfied grunt into her shoulder.

Yes, it was only casual and she could drop Wednesdays whenever she liked, but everyone deserved a decent shag now and then in her opinion.

Except as the Wednesdays came and went, Clara and the Doctor kept coming back to her bed with increasing frequency; their relationship became something more than it had been before, that was for sure, though where it was exactly, neither of them were for certain. She knew she wasn’t the Other Woman—the Doctor had been unable to contact River for what felt like an eternity for him and he feared her dead in his timeline—and he knew he wasn’t exactly the best potential-husband material whether linearly or not. Thus they continued, going on adventures and capping things off with a satisfying round of sex before parting for the remainder of the week. He would leave while she was still sleeping, a steaming cuppa and some biscuits waiting for her, too afraid of what her face would look like should she be awake and watching, knowing sometimes it took a significant amount of goading to get him there in the first place. She accepted it, finding already-made tea to be a decent enough reason to lay in bed and read without worrying about putting clothes on, figuring that they’d come to that point eventually.

Though one Wednesday, much like many of the others, the TARDIS materialized in the broom cupboard next to Clara’s classroom after school was let out for the day. The schoolteacher sat at her desk despite having heard the _vworp-vworping_ of the stuck parking break and continued her marking. She was nearly done when the Doctor made his way into her classroom, a look of boyish embarrassment on his face.

“Miss Oswald,” he said from the doorway, clearing his throat. “Doctor Smith would like to have a word with you in his office.”

“Are we playing doctor this time?” she asked. She didn’t need to look up from her papers to know the sheepish look he was wearing, though a quick glance told her that the bulge in his trousers was in desperate need of attention, moreso than usual.

“No, though we can, if you want,” he gulped. He watched as she calmly packed up her things and followed her back into the TARDIS. A couple deft flicks and spins of things on the console and they were walking into her flat, the ship wheezing in disapproval as the passengers disembarked.

“What she saying now?” Clara wondered idly.

“She doesn’t really approve of being used for a booty call, so to speak,” he blushed. The Doctor took off his jacket and hung it up on the back of a chair before beginning to wring his hands nervously. “I mean, you’re not just a booty call, Clara. That would insinuate something rather rude.”

“Oh, not necessarily,” she grinned, walking into her bedroom. She knew he was following like the sexually-frustrated puppy he was, and took great pride in seeing him sweat in anticipation. “Would you like to have a night in, maybe? I don’t think we’ve done that for a long time—order a pizza, I think I have a few beers left…”

“That’d be lovely,” he replied. Watching her take off her jewelry, he began to fidget uncomfortably. One earring, then the other; one ring, two, three, four; the bracelets next…

The moment she was free of her trinkets, the Doctor scooped her up into his arms and spun around once, landing on her bed in a mighty _flump_. Clara used the opportunity to pin his shoulders down on the mattress as she aggressively kissed him. His hands went into automatic, one cupping her underside and the other undoing the zip of her skirt. Her leggings were smooth underneath the pads of his fingers as he slid the fabric down, and her legs were even smoother. Before the Doctor realized it, the both of them had undressed one another and he was being flipped over so that Clara could lay back and enjoy everything he had to offer.

Not wanting to disappoint, the Doctor hunched over his tiny space-girlfriend and ground his hips up against her, teasing with the friction of it while leaving kisses up and down her throat. Clara’s legs wrapped around his hips as he buried himself into her, thrusting with as much force as he could muster in the body he found out wasn’t exactly built for the most satisfying sex life. He was too tall, he would often muse as they fell asleep in the afterglow; simply too tall compared to her tiny frame to do everything properly. River at least had been closer to his size, not to mention satisfied with his occasionally-less-than-stellar performance, though it seemed like what Clara lacked in height she made up for in her need for him to go harder, longer.

“Rassilion save me,” he whispered to himself. At least, he thought he whispered, though his girlfriend gave him a smack on the hip to get his attention.

“I know it’s Time Lord swearing, but come on, we agreed,” she frowned.

“Mmm, sorry, just thinking.”

“…about…?”

He apologetically adjusted his hips and thrust again, eliciting a satisfied moan from her lips. “I wonder what our kids would be like, if we had them.”

“A little early in the relationship to think about that, isn’t it?” She snaked her hand past their mess of limbs and sex in order to grab at him, getting the dangly bits that were hanging within her reach. He grunted and wrenched his eyes shut as she squeezed, trying to control himself. “Would they be considered a Human or a Gallifreyan?”

“Short,” he choked out. Clara quickly withdrew her hand and gently smacked the side of his head.

“Oi, watch it, Mister,” she teased. “Short but dangerous, I’ll have you know.”

“Blimey; your height, my chin… our hypothetical children would be doomed.”

“A genetic disaster waiting to happen, I’m sure.”

Her back arched as she drew closer and closer to coming, not yet all the way there when the Doctor gasped and ended up spilling himself halfway in her, halfway in her sheets. Clara pulled him back in for a couple more thrusts and then she was there, melting away into sheer bliss. She laid down atop him afterwards, not wanting to lay directly in the mess on her bed, letting her fingers trace lazy circles across his chest.

“Could we have children?” she wondered sleepily.

“Not likely, but it’s possible,” he replied. “Lots of mumbo-jumbo about what Time Lords do to each other when it comes to the Academy is involved, but I’ve seen it happen. The TARDIS can help combat that, if she’s feeling up to it.”

“Nothing about being a near-impotent old man, then?”

“I don’t think you’re being very fair.”

“I don’t think you’ve had grounds to stand on since that incident in space-China.”

“One, they were the Qin Dynasty entirely by province of lucky translator microbes, and two, that was _once_.”

“At least you’re _my_ near-impotent old man,” she chuckled. “Do you want children… one day?”

“Probably, but for now,” he carefully rolled them over so that he could lay with his massive chin between her breasts, “this is perfectly fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

Regeneration was a tricky, tricky thing. Although the man Clara loved was still there, he renewed himself all wrong, giving himself a face already worn and grey. She didn’t need that vivid a reminder to know he was a sad old man, clinging to a fleeting life so that he may not forget how to properly live in his ancient state, but to see it there in front of her—a bare and utterly exposed man giving himself completely—it made her want to love him even more.

“I’m not your boyfriend,” he had said once his regeneration hormones had cooled off enough for him to make sense. She made the mistake of thinking that it had meant their space-time tryst was done and he no longer needed something physical; there were no flirty touches, no more quick hugs and gentle kisses. It took the death of a good man and _Santa_ showing up, of all people, for her to realize precisely what it was he had meant that day in words gone unsaid.

_I’m not in a place to be your boyfriend anymore, but I am ready to be your husband if you’ll have me._

They got hitched by an Elvis impersonator in space-Vegas and shagged their way across the stars during the entire week after Christmas. His body was still tall, even taller compared to his last face, yet somehow it all fit. Although this version of him was fresh-faced and grey, he wasn’t as restrained as he was before… in a sense. Being sparing in his outward actions while in public made their private interactions all the sweeter, and it was no more apparent than it was on their wedding night.

Space-Vegas had meant the psychic paper had given them not only space-gambling-inspectors status, but space-comps as well. The Doctor had followed Clara almost begrudgingly, whining about how he never should have gotten her used to putting _space_ in front of everything, because that really wasn’t the correct terminology, yet there was a certain quality to his voice that made every step in the casino hotel’s corridors nearly hell to stand. She used the cardkey to access their room and locked the door behind them—the Galactic Institute of Gambling’s inspectors were definitely _not_ to be disturbed.

“Call me a traditionalist, but I think it’s only fitting that you go and do the shagging first time around since you’re the one who had to propose,” she said as he stood behind her, wrapping his arms over her shoulders and front. He pressed himself against her, silently letting her know how ready he was.

“You don’t want to?” he asked. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and gently squeezed her tighter. “Once I was done figuring out my new self, I waited for you to be ready.”

“Shag me, spaceman,” she laughed. She turned around within his grasp and brought him down for a kiss. “Make me see stars.”

“Yes, boss,” he replied.

The Doctor went down on his knees and began to undress his wife of about forty-five minutes. First he took off her slippers, kissing her calves as he stood up, taking her nightie with him. He then picked her up and carried her to bed, taking care of his upper layers before leaning over Clara and gently trailing his lips across her belly and over her breasts, long fingers stroking between her legs. **_Fuck_** his fingers were longer and defter now—he really had regenerated for her, knowing exactly what he needed to get her going. Eventually it got too much and he scrambled off her, working on relieving himself of his trousers and pants without ripping anything. He did, however, _literally_ rip off her soaked knickers, face flushing in embarrassment as he muttered something into her chest about the fabrics of her time not always being as well-made as they should have been.

He slid into her easily, his body having already conformed to her specific needs. His hips were stronger this time, his hands, his tongue; it was all Clara could do to lay there, moaning and gasping and clenching around him. She couldn’t even latch on with her legs as she had in the past, as there was no need. With the way his hips rolled into hers, all she needed to do was lay back and grip the headboard, waiting for an orgasm to take her to a place beyond description.

Suddenly, the rocking stopped. Clara opened her eyes and stared at the Doctor, seeing the sweat beaded across his face and chest and dampening his curls, wondering why he was still all the way lodged in her, yet he wasn’t moving.

“It’s been a long time,” he admitted quietly. “I can’t tell… are you alright? You don’t normally…” He took her hands from the headboard and brought them to her lips to kiss.

“I’m fine… just never thought sex could be _this_ amazing,” she giggled. She used his leverage to lift herself up and sit on his hips, not letting his specially-designed-for-her cock leave her. He was still too tall, so she brought his head down and whispered huskily in his ear. “Come on, Doctor; fuck me until I beg for mercy. See how far I can go.”

“No,” he replied simply. He brushed the soaked hair from her skin and stared straight into her eyes. “That sort of thing is for later—this is about letting you know how much you mean to me.”

Tenderly, he laid her back down and picked his rhythm up again, leaning down to kiss her throat as he kneaded a breast and a hip. She came, shuddering as she shouted his name in praise, yet he kept going. Clara wasn’t even recovered from the first one and she felt another orgasm pulse through her, then another, and finally the Doctor was spent, wheezing as he came all the way inside her, his own brain finally shorting out at such an overload of carnality sweeping away all thought. He was able to aim his body as he collapsed afterwards, only half-covering Clara’s tiny frame with his own thin one.

“That’s new,” he chuckled. “Thought I had the same testicles, but it ended up being just the scrotum.”

“What the _hell_ , Doctor—we _just_ had sex… can’t that wait?” she only half-laughed. “How can you _possibly_ tell that sort of thing?”

“Go on then; you’re the expert,” he murmured, nearly asleep. She reached down and fondled the sweaty, sticky mess and smiled, feeling the arm draped over her fold around in a hug. “Same, yeah?”

“I am never going to understand Time Lord biology,” Clara snickered.

“You don’t need to,” the Doctor assured her gently. “I am yours, Clara Oswald… and that’s all anyone needs to know. I could be taking little ones to playgroup, and no matter how many eyes look at me, I will not give them a second thought because they are not you.”

That turned her smile into a genuine grin. “You ready to have kids? Positive?”

“I don’t know who frowned me this face, but what is for certain is that I am now a husband for you, a father for our children, should they happen… when they happen.” He then paused for a moment, her shoulder digging into his temple. “Are _you_ ready for children?”

“I think you know the answer to that one already,” she teased. “Maybe after the space-honeymoon we can start trying.”

“ _Honeymoon_ —no ‘space’.”

“You’re not taking me to Disney World… or France.”

“No, but I will take you to see wonders, Clara. I can guarantee you that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, LAST ONE HERE WE GO.

“If I am going to have a baby, then it will _not_ be genetically-engineered,” Clara scowled. She and the Doctor had been contemplating a decent time to start trying to have a child together, and he had just run out of the TARDIS and into her bedroom with an armful of printed readouts and simulated computer imagery and so many things that it made her upset just looking at all of it.

“I have _enemies_ , Clara,” the Doctor whined. “If I don’t interfere at least _somewhat_ and change which source code it takes its DNA from, then Junior could very well be radiating Time Lord regenerative energy without even going anywhere _near_ the Schism.”

“Okay, but can you at least stop trying to plan for what they look like? It’s a bit creepy.” She held up a piece of paper that had 3D models of both of them, with a figure in the middle labeled “Potential Gallifreyanoid Hybrid Specimen # 19763”, which looked like an androgynous twelve-year-old on the cusp of puberty that not much taller than her. “How many of these scenarios did you print out, anyhow?”

“Not enough,” he said. “I only went through and simulated runs involving my genetic makeup as of this regeneration—Time Lords have been known to present genetic markers from past regenerations when attempting to conceive in such a primitive fashion…”

“…you mean a child of ours could still have that ridiculous chin?”

“The chin, with blond hair, large ears, and I was rather short once, so that’s not looking good for the nip…” He saw Clara’s face go from critical to flat-out annoyed and rescued the piece of paper from her hand. “I should stop now, shouldn’t I?”

“Do you _really_ want to have this child?” she asked. “All you seem to be doing is second and third-guessing everything.”

“It’s a parents’ job, isn’t it?” he posed. He sat down on the mattress next to her and exhaled heavily, straightening his papers. “My first family didn’t exactly fare that well, and they’d want me to raise this one _right_ —no Time Lords, no castes and ranks, no buying into the pompous ceremony because it’s there. I find no comfort in the ceremony, Clara. There never was comfort to begin with.”

“You’ll be fine,” she assured him, rubbing his back. “You, me, us… we’ll all be fine. It’s not like the Time Lords want to be found, with how much you search yet turn up nothing. Why would they come out of hiding just because you had a child?”

“To take them away and indoctrinate them into their lies; to turn them haughty and cruel and everything we stand against.” Discarding the papers on the floor, he took her free hand and held it with both of his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss. “I don’t know if I want this child anymore. Between the Master and the Time Lords and anyone else that has some sort of problem with me…”

“Do you want to know what I say? _To Hell with them_ ,” Clara said. “How about we have a lie-down? It’ll feel good.” She brought her hand from his back to his hair, stroking the grey fluff gently.

The Doctor nodded silently, giving her permission to take control. She took his hooded sweatshirt off of him, hanging it up on the doorknob before working to get his boots off. When she had him in stockinged feet and his hole-covered jumper, she laid him down, placing herself behind him. She looped her arms around him—one over his chest and one underneath his neck—securely holding him against her chest.

“Better?” she asked.

“A little,” he admitted.

There was a long silence that fell around them, settling in until it was all that was to be heard in Clara’s small flat. They really did want to be parents, they truly did, yet there was a feeling shared between them that the universe did not necessarily feel the same. Some trips they could barely go on an adventure without the cosmos attempting to kill one, the other, or even both of them, so what right did they have to attempt to have children? That would only put an innocent life in mortal danger the moment they were born.

Rolling over, the Doctor matched gazes with as he scooted his way up the mattress to be at face-level with her. His eyes were wet and red-rimmed from holding back tears, a couple drops falling upon the pillow as he closed them, kissing his wife. The tenderness in which he kissed her made the room seem to melt away, letting her know that whatever happened, he didn’t regret eloping on Christmas. Clara pulled back a smidgeon to breathe after a while, placing a finger on the Doctor’s lips.

“We’re going to start here and now, yeah?” she said. “I don’t care who or what comes after our baby, because it is going to have the most feared parents in the entire universe. No one touches a hair on our child’s head and gets away with it as long as I have a say.”

“Y-Yes ma’am,” he murmured.

The Doctor laid passively as Clara sat up and began to peel off more of his layers. Jumper, t-shirt, trousers, pants, socks; all were discarded in a pile and that pile dumped in the laundry basket in the corner of the room. Clara stood by the basket to take her own clothes off, facing her space-husband so that he could get the full effect as he remained on the mattress. She returned to bed and immediately pushed him back down, gingerly handling him as she climbed atop his wiry frame.

“My turn,” she said huskily. She leaned down and kissed him, exploring his mouth as she ran her hands along his bare chest. Moaning appreciatively, his hands found her hips—long fingers ghosted over her skin and made their way down her thighs. She tapped the side of his head when he went for their normal spot between her legs, causing a look of confusion.

“…but…”

“I said _‘my turn’_ ,” she teased. Clara reached down between them and removed his hands, placing them back on her hips. “Whatever happens, happens, even if by some freak accident our child gets genes from the Gallifreyan equivalent of Korea and is seven feet tall.”

“Okay, now that’s impossible because I haven’t _had_ that regenerat—ion…!” the Doctor whimpered as she sat up and landed hard on his genitalia. Jaw clenching, he hissed when she began to rub against him, squishing the tender bits beneath her. “How… are you… so… heavy…?”

“Muscle—it’s all muscle,” she grinned.

After watching him attempt to keep control for a bit, she then decided to take him in-hand and sink down around his hardened cock. He sputtered and gasped, officially losing it. Things were so different when she was the one on top, Clara noticed, as it was easier for him to become wrapped up in the hormone stew they were creating when he was not solely focused on pleasing her. She swayed forwards, then backwards, grinding down on the Doctor as he began to curse and swear in his native tongue, the TARDIS refusing to translate the filth he was spewing. His hands gripped her hips and thighs so tightly that she knew that they would possibly bruise, though that didn’t matter. Bruises healed, yet she knew he was storing the memory of this night safely away for a night she did not occupy, as he did with all the times they had sex.

Hard fucks, lovemaking, relieving antsy tension… it was all there up in his mind, she knew it.

When the Doctor came it was a groaning, messy affair that ended up being the last push Clara needed herself before coming to orgasm. She collapsed into his side when she was certain they were both done, using his shoulder as a pillow while he idly ran his fingertips over her hair.

“Maybe,” he thought aloud, throat dry and raspy, “I can find where I put this device I’ve got for masking genetic coding. It was made for Time Lords, but if our child happens to have the worst-case genetic scenario, then it shouldn’t do them any harm while they grow up a normal, happy human.”

“Make sure you tune it up before trying _anything_ ,” she replied sleepily. He kissed the top of her head in reply.

“Of course I will,” he promised. “No one will get in the way of us and our child; _no one_.”


End file.
